Thursday, May 17, 2012

They ARE persistent. Skilled even. This is important. I think I'm done with them for now.

I'm sure they'll tell you all about it sooner or later.

After they've complained a bit, I think I'll repost old material that Nick seems to have worked on at varying points over the years. You cannot understand the story of The Presence without it. In fact, none of what happened makes any sense unless you discuss the "Nephilim" situation which occurred before her capture.

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

The midday light filters through the windows of the diner,
which was a hole in the wall if you've ever seen one. There's something about
the worn wood tables and the 70's tile-work that seems one part comforting, two
parts charmingly tacky. It's quiet, with the hum of the coffee machine and the
sounds of plates being washed making noise in lieu of actual conversation.
Perhaps there are two or three other diners, reading a paper or sipping at
acrid coffee, staring into space.

The door chimes, and a new patron enters.

It's almost inperceptible, but the air in the place...
constricts. It becomes stagnant, like a tomb or an old library. It's slightly
uncomfortable, but most wouldn't notice. The man himself walks slowly, hands in
his pockets, whistling a note or two of... something or other. It could be
classical. Could be Sinatra.

"It seems that you, Mr. Dwyer, can be quite a hard man
to find." He politely offers, sliding into the adjacent seat of the booth.
Eerie, inhuman amber eyes glitter from behind a fringe of spiky, salt and
pepper hair. His voice is smooth, calm, every word measured. A familiar face,
with unfamiliar confidence.

Not Spencer Fitzgerald. Not anymore.

Nick smiles a little, and leans back in his chair. He's been
reading a book with the title of "Literacy with an Attitude". He puts
the book down and rest his hands behind his head.

"You know? I think about you, and I think more about
the Ballad of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Down he goes...Dum de dah dah, dum dah dah
dum, Der dah something Edmund Fitzgerald..."

"Spencer Fitzgerald is dead." The grin is still
shockingly pleasant and polite. "Not a scrap left of him. Some would think
it's a shame; I'm assuming you're not among them."

Nick considers this briefly.

"Oh, I think you're both bottom feeding scum suckers,
catfish potentially. But he was a bottom feeding scumsucker with panache. You?
You're Edmund Fitzgerald, the ballad of a ship lost at sea...Would you like me
to get you something while you're here?"

"I think I'm fine. Though the offer is much
appreciated." Redlight’s eyes narrow, if only slightly. "I don't know
why I expected you to treat this meeting with some sort of respect - hm, shame
on me... and regardless, here we stand. It's truly a pleasure to meet
you." His head tilts to the side slightly, as if he's picked up the habit
from a certain tall and slender man...

"Oh Edmund, do be fair! I'm giving all the respect in
the world! After all, nobody's bleeding yet. So what do I owe this glorious
meeting to?"

Redlight’s voice goes soft. "So what do you owe
indeed... I came here, Mr. Dwyer, because I wanted to see the man that was the
downfall of my rather pathetic predecessor. To see who tried to outplay, but
was outplayed in return. And I do have to admit, I don't think I'll be making
the same mistake that he did." His voice never rises above anything but
comforting playfulness. If one didn't know better, they'd see the young man as
a polite, normal person...

"Trying to gain the measure of a man? I've always been
fond of a tape measurer for that. I find it interesting. You don't have a
network yet. You were willing to come here unarmed and running on nothing but
fumes and triumph...you're awfully confident aren't you?"

Nick sips some coffee.

Then Nick says, "They do really, really good coffee
here. Are you sure you don't want some?"

Redlight thrums his fingers on the table, once, twice,
before leaning back. "Do you take me for an idiot, Dwyer? A fool? Some
sort of self-sacrificing mongrel?" A slight quirk of a grin on the last
part. "I do have my failsafes. Though I'm quite confident I won't need
them. This is a chance, Nick. A chance for us to... meet on equal ground before
the game truly begins. To meet the man that's going to outplay you."Redlight said it as a statement of fact. Like 2 + 2 = 4, or 'the sky is blue'. "I figured that I'd give you that
privilege."

"Indeed. It's good to know you know how outclassed you
are. I wouldn't have said anything about how I'd outplay you though... You see,
I'm a gentleman. I try to maintain a bit of decorum."

Nick lets his chair touch the ground, and he smiles at
Redlight.

Redlight laughs, the sound almost muted, as if they were
both underwater, returning a similar grin. "I should've expected that.
It's a shame, Nick Dwyer. Games are never any fun when the other side seems
intent on losing." He stares up at the ceiling, thoughtful. "People
will die. Oh yes, many, many people will die. Such is the nature of this game,
after all! Is this all still very funny, then?"

"None of you ever really understood me. It's always rather funny to me, Edmund. Everyone always makes the same old mistakes. I at least try to make those mistakes for the right reasons. This would have been over a long, long time ago if I'd given up on a few of my rules...I think about that sometimes. But then, I need those rules."

Redlight still doesn't look at the other man. "Everyone needs rules, Mr. Dwyer. Everyone needs guidelines of how far you're willing to go into the abyss, lest it starts to stare into you." He sighs, the sound melodous. Quiet. "There's a very fine line between a man and a monster, after all. Imagine how powerful you'd be if you played both sides?"

Redlight's unblinking amber gaze is back now. And the grin spreads
wider.

Nick says "Hmmmm. I saw this coming you know. I was
afraid to tell you, after all, you already knew. Ah well. What's done is done I
suppose. You do realize that you're not actually "redlight", don't
you?"

Redlight responds: "It's
really a… Moniker. Name. Title. Label. It makes no difference to me. It's what
I've been given, and so I intend to use it." Bandaged fingers come
together, tips just barely touching, hovering in front of his face. "I-mor-tality.” Redlight intones, “Interesting, what
others throw away as a last bid for survival. Perhaps it was unwise to aspire
to such a thing in the first place." He closes his eyes. “Perhaps he
didn't aim high enough."

Nick says, "What you are is the creation of a tired
beast that wanted to grow beyond it's station. It managed a few thousand
children a year, and decided it wanted more. You, that Valtiel thing, Writer,
you're all just the thoughtless aspirations of a Fear that wanted more. You are
the desire for power made real, at the cost of a man and his soul, Edmund. An
experiment in the ways of power, with a limited purpose and limited potential.
This is as strong as you will ever become, and unlike the rest of humanity, though your set strength is quite impressive, you will never evolve beyond this point. The original Redlight knew this, and tried to find a way to get beyond his creator and evolve as a normal human might. The truth is, you were dead the moment you stopped being Spencer Fitzgerald, and became the doomed Edmund Fitzgerald."

Redlight grunts. His
expression falls to one of unamused deadpan. He says, "You are not going to be hard to
impress."

Nick says, "I've seen heaven and hell and everything
inbetween. It'll be harder than you think. And are you sure you don't want
something? I've got a Reuben coming, and they make a damn good one here."

Redlight shakes his head, standing, suddenly looking very...
uninterested. As if Nick wasn't even worth his time. "I do hope that your
nonchalance isn't something you grow to regret, Mr. Dwyer. I do suggest you
watch the first few moves of this game. Because despite your
experience..."

And then, THEN, Everyone in the diner, they... change. All
their various eye colours going to amber. All of them turning to stare at the
two. Previously normal, now hallowed out, all within a second.

Unless...

A red bracelet on the waitress.

The man in the next booth is wearing a red tie.

The woman sitting at the counter has on a deep crimson
blouse.

Redlight turns his back, shoving one hand in his pocket, the
other left to wave lazily over his shoulder.

"You obviously have a lot to learn. Goodnight,
Nick."

"Oh. There's one thing." Nick says as he stands
up, following after "Edmund", still holding his coffee. "I keep
asking myself the same question. WWMD."